


One More Time?

by LeakingLlama



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Any excuse for Britney, Bisexual Quentin Coldwater, Daddy Kink, Eliot Waugh in drag, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Eliot in lingerie, Eliot's canon-compliant biphobia, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fucking Todd, Getting Together, Goth Q, Gratuitous use of italics, Honestly this is mostly porn, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Matchmaker Margo, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Physical Kids Cottage (The Magicians), Physical kids party, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Seriously way too soft, Smut, Song: ...Baby One More Time (Britney Spears), Unnecessary parentheticals, just briefly, no beta we die like men, queliot, quentin is a bisexual disaster, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeakingLlama/pseuds/LeakingLlama
Summary: Eliot takes a dare. Quentin takes a nap. Margo takes on a project. Quentin takes Eliot.Or, the one where Eliot dresses up like Britney Spears.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 20
Kudos: 129





	1. The Britney Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle. This is my first fic ever.
> 
> Ok, don't be gentle. I like it rough. Help me improve!
> 
> Honestly though, just fucking enjoy it. I'm pretty sure this work is complete but, knowing me, there's always the possibility of later additions. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 1: The Britney Incident

Quentin quickly closed his bedroom door behind him and leaned back against it, breathing out a barely-audible, “Fuck, fuck, SHIT…fuck…” His head thumped back onto the door as he took some deep breaths: In, one…out, two…in, one…out, two…” _They didn’t notice. Please tell me they didn’t notice._ Had that really just happened? _Fuck. Ok._

Ok.

How was this Quentin’s life? He could’ve just left his fantasies alone. Let that wayward sheet of paper blow away in the breeze. Instead of chasing it into some impossibly perfect wonderland of magic, fronted by some impossibly perfect sex god gatekeeper sprawled along an unassuming Brakebills sign, cigarette dripping – damn lucky cigarette – _dripping_ from his perfect lips as they curled around his name ( _Quentin Coldwater?_ ) like it fucking belonged to them and them alone. Quentin often reflected that the only things keeping him from reaching up to grab a handful of those divine curls and dragging him down to crush the man’s lips with his own were (1) the immediate and distracting realization that magic was actually real, and (2) a lifetime of moderate social maladjustment and depression that kept a steady voice repeating to him that every move he was about to make was the wrong one. So that was that. Do _not_ tackle the sexy god-man to the ground. Got it.

Didn’t make the next few weeks any easier though. Not by a long shot. Eliot – as Quentin learned was the sex god’s name (perfect, what? How?) – was flirtation incarnate. The subtle (and not-so-subtle) touches, the innuendoes, the – the _eye-fucking, dear gods_ – it was all so much. It was all Quentin could do to maintain his sanity most days (every day). So, naturally, Eliot had to up the stakes. Which apparently needed to involve a crop top, garter belts, and Britney Spears.

It was well-known that the Physical Kids threw the best parties. Honestly, since Quentin moved into the Cottage, it seemed they did little else. The night before this particularly horrible day had been no different, albeit with a smaller cast. Eliot, Margo, Quentin, Alice, and, yes, even Todd, were enjoying their slightly buzzed Thursday evening with a drinking game (typical). The rules of this particular game had pretty much been thrown to the wayside by this point and the group had unceremoniously turned it into a half-hearted version of Truth-or-Dare, which is precisely how Eliot came to be strong-armed by Margo into dressing up like Britney (ala “Baby One More Time” schoolgirl phase) and parading around campus belting out said-chart-topper as Margo followed behind providing the (magically-supplied) background music.

Now, Quentin knew goddamned well that this was NOT something he would be able to handle with any semblance of dignity, so he planned ahead. He knew Eliot’s class schedule by now (he wasn’t a stalker, nope, not a bit, just attentive to his friends’ lives, that’s it) so he had managed to hide away in his room until said classes were over and he heard Eliot and Margo’s laughing and giggling, followed by the unmistakable strums of late 90s Britney and the slam of the cottage door before he cautiously made his way down into the kitchen to fix himself a quesadilla and a glass of red wine (what? They pair, ok?). He stretched out on one of the couches, cottage to himself as everyone else was undoubtedly following around the frankly _mind-numbing_ spectacle that was Eliot Waugh in drag…and breathed, eyes fluttering shut…

He was awoken abruptly by the cottage door swinging open, followed by a burst of musical nostalgia, Margo’s triumphant smirk, and… _oh._

_Oh. Dear. Gods._

Eliot. Quentin swallowed the Saturn-sized lump in his throat as he absent-mindedly tucked some errant hair behind his ear, glancing down and to either side in rapid succession. Eliot strutted in with the confidence that only he could ever muster, made three inches taller by chunky heels. As Quentin’s gaze roamed upward, he was met with black opaque stockings, fastened under a plaid skirt by black lace garter belts (not canon but a nice touch). After lingering on _that_ little detail a little too long, he caught an open, white button up, tied at his ribs, revealing an enticing trail of dark hair leading into the skirt (was that a flash of a black lace bra underneath?), a grey cardigan, and a blonde wig styled in pigtails. Eliot’s signature smoky eyeliner was a bit more pronounced than usual, and frankly _wickedly_ red lip stain highlighted those heart-stopping lips as they mouthed the lyrics in a stunning baritone voice.

But nah, that wasn’t enough for Eliot. Oh no. Not even remotely.

He immediately eyed Quentin like the prey that he obviously was and began to follow his hips over to the couch, staring intently while singing… _My loneliness was killing me…_ swish, pop (hips, dear gods)… _I must confess…_ bending down at the end of the couch... _I lose my mind…_ crawling toward him… _siiiiiiiign…_ straddling Quentin’s lap, hand on his shoulder, hips waving and grinding forward… _hit me, baby, one more time_.

_Fucking hell._

He had to know. He was _right there_. Eliot’s ass ever-so-slightly brushing against Quentin’s semi tenting in his worn pajama bottoms and _shit…no, nonononono…_ Eliot stilled, just for a moment and his throat twitched…like he was trying to swallow but his mouth was too dry. Quentin thought on his feet as best as he could.

“Aaaannnd that’s my cue…” he stammered out, bounding up from the couch and rushing upstairs, trying desperately to keep himself turned away enough to conceal his _very_ obvious arousal from Eliot and Margo.

Who were…unusually still and quiet.

He bounded up the steps two and three at a time and slid into his room, wishing frantically that Hermione Granger’s time-turner was real.

“Aaaaannnnnd that’s _my_ Q…” breathed Eliot in his thoughtfully aloof brand of stoicism as he heard the door to Quentin’s room slam shut.


	2. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo is brilliant and helpful.

Chapter 2: The Plan

So that’s how Quentin ended up trying not to hyperventilate in his room while downstairs, Eliot and Margo stared momentarily in stunned silence toward the dark hallway upstairs.

“ _Oh…my…god,_ ” Margo mouthed silently to Eliot as he stared hungrily up the stairs.

He slowly turned to face her, eyes still stuck to the second floor darkness. “Oh, this is going to be wayyyy too much fun, Bambi.”

“Tell me you _saw_ that,” Margo whispered.

“Are you kidding? I was straddling him, Margo. I _felt_ that.”

“Oh, honey, he is _gone_ on you.”

Eliot resumed his signature air of arrogance. “Well, I mean, it happens.”

“Oh stop, you fucking drama queen. It’s _me_ , bitch. Don’t act like you don’t fucking love it.”

“Of course I do…”

Margo regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, “But…there’s more…isn’t there…”

Eliot flinched, barely noticeable.

Didn’t escape Margo’s notice though. “Oh my _God_ , El. You…FUCK…please, no…please tell me you haven’t fallen for the little Fillory nerd. You…you _goddamn little shit!_ ”

“Margo, please…”

“No. Nope, no you don’t get to say _shit_ to me right now. You _know_ better, El. We don’t DO this.”

Eliot just stood there and took his lecture in silence, unable to meet her eyes.

Which…ok, frankly just _killed_ her.

“Ok, come here, baby,” she said softly, holding out her arms to invite a hug. Eliot stepped into her like a scolded puppy as she rubbed his back. “Ok. Ok so you caught some feelings, baby. Alright. So what now?”

“I don’t know, Bambi. It’s…I mean obviously it’s still _fun._ To…fuck with him. Did you see the look on his face?!”

“Priceless,” Margo smiled, eyes squinting.

“I mean, you know I’m definitely not above luring our little probably-straight-boy nerd into a magical land of queer decadence for an evening of mind-blowing sex and next-day plausible deniability but…”

“But…you can’t bring yourself to hurt him.”

Eliot nodded and sighed, “I can’t bring myself to hurt him.”

“So then…”

“So then…shit. I mean…do we _know_ he’s straight?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You _have_ seen the way he sits in a chair, right?”

“Margo…”

“What? It’s a known fact. He can’t sit properly in a chair to save his life. And that _hair?_ Please, El, that boy is a bisexual disaster.”

Eliot paused, considering the evidence. “Hmm…you do have a point…”

“You know I’m right, El. And you know I don’t like to encourage you to get into your…feelings,” as if the word just tasted godawful, “and I especially don’t like to see you get hurt and so help me gods, El, if that little D&D princess hurts you they will NEVER find all the pieces of what’s left of him when I’m finished. But…if it makes you feel better, I can work a little of my magic and do some sleuthing, maybe nudge him in your direction…”

“Would you, Bambi?” Eliot’s puppy dog eyes pleading in that uniquely only-Bambi-gets-to-see-this way.

Margo’s lips curled up at the corners in a look that was somehow both judgmental and endearing at the same time. “You’re damn lucky I love you, bitch.”

“I really am,” Eliot admitted, smiling brilliantly.

“Ok,” Margo’s eyes narrowed. It was time to get serious. “First thing’s first: Do NOT take that outfit off.”

“Bambi…”

“Shhh,” Margo’s finger flying up to rest firmly on Eliot’s protesting lips. “I said what I said. Now get in the kitchen. We’re having a party.”


	3. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Physical Kids throw a party.

Chapter 3: The Party

Several hours later, the Physical Kids’ party was in full swing. Margo decided it was going to be a 90s theme (it _has_ to have a theme), and a nostalgic mix of grunge and bubblegum pop was playing at a slightly-more-than-acceptable level. Eliot was, naturally, in his element at the bar, Britney as ever, entertaining a small collection of starry-eyed first years fawning over his every move while he consumed their energy like the glowing psy-vamp deity that he was. Alice was conversing with a few second-years against a secluded wall. Penny and Kady were doing shots on the couch, pretending they wouldn’t rather be anywhere else but making an appearance anyway. Margo was deliciously floating through the crowd shooting the occasional eye dagger at some hopeful (stupid) first year who dared to approach her. There was no sign of Quentin.

Margo made her way up to the bar where Eliot was finishing some magnificent display of bottle acrobatics while floating a few glasses onto the bar to be filled with color-changing liquid in front of his line of admirers. As Margo approached, Eliot announced that the bar was temporarily closed, which was met with looks of confusion on the frozen first year faces. Margo responded to their lack of compliance with her deadly “try me” stare, followed by a booming, “NOW, bitches,” which caused the students to scatter fearfully, much to the poorly-disguised amusement of Eliot.

“So where’s our boy? Still sulking in his room, I’m guessing?” Margo glanced around the room.

“Apparently. I didn’t see him leave so…” Eliot looks a little dejected.

“So…I suppose I’m the runner then?” Margo’s eyebrows shooting upward in irritation.

“If you would, my dearest,” pleaded Eliot, trying to cover his nervousness.

“Jesus fucking Christ, El, you are _gone_ on this little nerd aren’t you?”

“Don’t hate me.”

Margo rolled her eyes. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“You’re a peach, Bambi.”

Margo flipped him off behind her without glancing back as she marched up the stairs toward Quentin’s room.

Quentin had heard the party raging downstairs and was secretly hoping that no one would notice his absence. It had taken him all afternoon to calm down from the embarrassment of what he has been referring to in his mind as “The Britney Incident” and trying desperately to convince himself that it really wasn’t as obvious as his brain made it seem. He had finally relaxed enough to lie down on the bed and start to drift off to sleep when he heard a sharp (irritated? How can a knock sound irritated?) knock on the door. He jolted up and looked sideways at the door for a moment. Then another knock, a bit louder this time, followed by, “Quentinnnn?! I know you’re in there. Open up.” Great. Margo was using her Mommy voice. He was in for it. He briefly considered ignoring her but quickly realized that _might_ technically count as a suicide attempt or, at the very least, an act of self-harm which, all things considered, Quentin had been doing well with lately and didn’t really want to mar his record so, reluctantly, he shuffled over to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Margo was leaning on an outstretched arm against the doorframe with her other hand on her hip, looking as if she had just found out that Quentin was the one who drew on the wall with crayon and he was about to get a time-out. Or a spanking, which, might not be all that…ok no, not the time, Quentin. Focus. Act natural.

“H-Hi, Hey, Margo. Um, what’s up?” Jesus was his voice always that high-pitched? God he was pathetic.

Margo didn’t move. She stared into his soul for about three seconds, then, unflinching, stated, “You’re missing the party.”

It was clearly an accusation. Shit. “Uh, yeah, uh, well, you know, I was just…I mean, I…didn’t get much sleep, um, last night so…I was kind of…tired, and sort of, just…dozed off?” _Was that an answer or a fucking question, Coldwater?_

Margo considered him for a moment, then resumed, “Uh huh. Well, glad you got a nap because it’s party time,” and in she blazed, past a startled Quentin and headed straight for his closet.

“Um, Margo?”

“Don’t start with me, Coldwater, you will not win. And you absolutely _cannot_ go downstairs in whatever godforsaken bullshit you’re wearing right now. There’s a _theme_. And _you_ , my darling Q, are going to be _fabulous…_ ”

Quentin rolled his eyes and died a little inside.


	4. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's got the best game...

Chapter 4: The Game

Eliot sat on the couch with a delightfully hot-pink cocktail, trying desperately to appear his usual, cavalier self. He most definitely was NOT sitting alone feeling sorry for himself, worrying himself sick and pining for a soft little nerd that was potentially having an identity crisis upstairs. He suddenly looked up to see Margo marching triumphantly down the stairs with the biggest, mischievous look on her face. She glanced around and found Eliot’s somewhat-well-masked petrified look and bounced over to him.

“ _Wait_ ‘til you see my masterpiece,” she grinned from ear to ear.

“Bambi, what have you done?” A twinge of both excitement and caution quaked in his voice.

“You’ll see,” she winked. Then after a beat, seeing the look of concern on Eliot’s face, “you’ll _love_ it. I promise…OH! And _bi_ the way…”

“Margo, tell me you didn’t just straight up ask Q if he was bi…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Eliot, where’s the fun in that? No I had much more fun watching him squirm as I _gently_ probed him about his romantic past…”

Eliot’s eyes went wide. “Margo what the fuck? Did you seriously bring up years of relationship trauma like 30 minutes before I finally work up the nerve to make a move?”

“Oh stop whining,” Margo chastised, “It’s fine. There was no trauma to speak of. But there _were_ a few different genders in the mix…”

“Don’t tease me, Bambi,” Eliot’s heartbeat suddenly making an appearance.

“I would _never!_ ” She gasped, obviously affronted. “Trust me, our boy is…shall we say, open to experiences.”

Eliot was about to make some sort of nervous rebuttal when his attention was caught by a figure slowly creeping down the stairs. Eliot’s heart dropped into his stomach. Quentin was obviously trying to slink downstairs largely unnoticed but…but…oh this, _this_ would never escape Eliot’s notice. Quentin stepped gingerly down each step in a pair of black Doc Martens. His legs were clad in the most gloriously shredded black skinny jeans, held together with an abundance of safety pins. They stopped just below his hip bones and were adorned with a studded belt (where did Margo even find that?). Speaking of hip bones, yep, there they were, on full display, thanks to a black ripped up crop top (really, Margo? _Really??_ ) topped with a loose black fishnet shirt and an impossibly thin, threadbare, sleeveless black hoodie. Eliot spotted a spiked black leather collar around Quentin’s neck and…

“Good _God_ Bambi is he wearing _eyeliner?_ ”

“You like? I remember how much you loved the whole 90’s goth look and he just _kills_ it _so hard._ ” Margo beamed with pride at her creation.

Quentin looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Eliot _might_ have momentarily had an out-of-body experience.

Quentin looked like he had a brief moment of uncertainty as he turned around to consider heading back upstairs and _Holy fucking cocksucker his ass in those jeans, Margo, why are you trying to literally kill me?_ Eliot tried to slow his breathing and appear as though he wasn’t falling apart at the seams. _Ok. Ok, just. Breathe. In. Out. In…shit. He’s headed this way._

Of course he was. Margo and Eliot were his anchors in social situations. He needed to have his hand held more often than not. Gods it was endearing. He made his way across the room, randomly apologizing to the backs of uninterested students who happened to bump into him. Finally, he reached the end of the couch and tucked his hair back behind his ear as he raised his eyebrows and breathed out a, “Hey guys,” that was just dripping with false confidence.

“Heyyy, Q,” lilted Margo in her sing-song, I-know-something-you-don’t voice. “El, doesn’t Q look simply _delicious_ in this outfit?”

Eliot’s throat went dry, but, being Eliot, he was able to manage some semblance of dignity with a haughty, “Absolutely, Margo, some of your best work.” God what the fuck was wrong with him? This was _Q_. _Our_ Q, not some horny first year jackass looking to up his XP. _Why was he like this…_

Quentin managed to keep going, though. “I kind of feel…ridiculous…but, in a…hot 90s sort of way?”

Which was…fuck, just _goddamn precious_.

“Well,” Eliot replied, “I mean I’m still dressed as Britney so we do make quite the pair.”

“Right,” Quentin muttered, “Although did you notice there’s, um, another Britney here as well?”

Quentin motioned over to a small group of students huddled against a wall in the kitchen, one of whom was wearing…well, what looked like the Wish App version of Eliot’s ensemble.

Fucking Todd.

Eliot’s face got serious. “Oh FUCK NO! No. Hell NO, _Todd_. Get your sorry, wannabe ass upstairs and change, right now. _I’M Britney, bitch!”_

Todd’s eyes about jumped out of his head as he spat out, “Eliot! Right, yes, um, I didn’t realize…I, uh…sorry, yes. I’m going,” and practically flew ( _did_ he fly) up the stairs, followed by sparks of laughter.

Which, ok, kind of broke the ice. Eliot turned back to see Quentin’s dimpled face lit up with laughter and just… _shit_ , Eliot wasn’t going to last long at this game.

A few cocktails in and Quentin was feeling significantly better. He still had a difficult time looking at Eliot for any length of time without his eyes wandering down to the garter belts peeking out from underneath his skirt, but he was able to distract himself enough that he wasn’t having the same, um, problem he was having earlier. Eliot had discarded the blonde wig and (magically? Probably.) his dark curls were tousled haphazardly but somehow perfectly on top of his head and he looked…just absolutely stunning. Quentin reminded himself of this afternoon’s unfortunate incident which seemed to keep his libido at bay enough to at least enjoy the evening. He was even feeling relaxed enough that when Eliot jumped up after hearing the beginning of “Oops I Did it Again” Quentin cheerfully followed him and Margo out to what had become the makeshift dance floor. Quentin…really couldn’t dance, but it wasn’t…well, it wasn’t terrible…just, also wasn’t _good_. But he figured there was enough of a crowd that he really wouldn’t be noticed much anyway and besides, he was surrounded by Eliot and Margo which meant that, in the eyes of literally every other person on campus, he basically didn’t exist. Margo and Eliot were glamorous and fun, as usual, and they both guided him along, a hand on a shoulder here or the small of his back there, as Eliot belted out the song like it was simply _made_ for him. He couldn’t help but notice the…hungry?...look in Eliot’s eyes now and then; but, then again, that was just _Eliot_. Wasn’t it? He just had this knack for putting people at ease yet making them extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Obviously it didn’t mean anything. Quentin was, well, Quentin, and someone like Eliot fucking Waugh would never be seriously interested in someone like him.

Never.

But he _was_ good at making you wonder though.

Especially when he danced just a little too close, brushed his leg up against Quentin’s or tilted his hips forward _just_ so and…so maybe his fingers (god, his fingers) lingered on Quentin’s back just a bit too long, or reached up to trace a path over the fishnet bumps on his chest or…tucked that irritating piece of hair back behind Q’s ear for him…

Ok, Quentin needed some air. And like four cigarettes.

He motioned to Eliot and Margo that he was going to step outside. Margo gave Eliot a look as he turned away and Eliot followed. Quentin stepped outside and shivered momentarily at the slight chill in the air, which actually felt refreshing after being inside the stuffy cottage all evening. Eliot filed out behind him, still wearing those damned heels _what the fuck? How?_ Eliot sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette, passing it to Q and patting the cushion next to him. Quentin took it and plopped down, exhausted. Eliot lit his own cigarette and Quentin was momentarily entranced by the other man’s lips as he exhaled, smoke tumbling down over his dimpled chin and curling out of his nostrils and just…fuck, he was so fucking sexy. Eliot sat there, lounging diagonally on the couch, one arm draped across the back of it like he was just inviting Quentin to cuddle. Quentin was momentarily grateful for the restrictiveness of his skinny jeans. He would have no pajama bottom mishaps tonight, no sir.

As Quentin leaned in toward Eliot, just slightly, not too assuming (although he had seen how hands-on Eliot was with Margo and knew that he wouldn’t think anything of it), he settled into the triangle of space left on the couch, one leg pulled underneath him and the other curled into his chest, as he rested his head on the back of the couch, just shy of Eliot’s arm. Eliot took note of the awkward position and smirked, thinking of Margo and her unparalleled gaydar. “Looks like you’re having fun tonight,” said Eliot, carefully bringing his hand up behind Quentin to brush some hair out of his face.

“You know what? I am,” Quentin smiled, thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s the clothes,” he chuckled.

Eliot smiled down at him. “Margo always did have a way with putting cute boys in fabulous clothing.”

Because he couldn’t ever resist an opportunity to make Quentin blush.

Which he did. Tremendously.

And thus began the nervous monologue that was just, so very, Quentin. “I never did get into the whole goth thing in high school. I think Julia went through a short phase of it. Not a good look for her. I was always just more of a baggy jeans and hoodies kid. I did go through a band-T stage. Not my finest hour. But, uh, yeah I dunno, maybe I, like, missed my calling?” Nervous laughter. _Shut the fuck up, Quentin, oh my god._ “I wasn’t really sure about the eyeliner though but Margo said it was an absolute must. I was kind of glad she changed her mind about the lipstick though…”

Now there was an image Eliot suddenly could not get rid of. Quentin’s black-rimmed eyes staring up at him, lips full and red and smearing up and down Eliot’s cock as he reached down to smudge some of it across Quentin’s cheek and… _Ok, STOP, Eliot, you’re wearing a skirt…_

“…and I mean, not that I’m _opposed_ to makeup or anything I mean, to each their own, ya know? I, um, I dated someone in undergrad for a few weeks who had this obsession with creating the perfect eyebrows and wore false lashes every day which, like, ok he ( _whoomp, there it is_ ) was a spoiled rich kid honestly and wasn’t really there for the education and just was really focused on himself all the time but like, who has the time to do that like _every day_ I mean…”

“Q.” Eliot couldn’t watch this any longer.

“Hmm?” Quentin looked up at him. He had unknowingly slipped closer and his head was resting in the crook of Eliot’s arm and seriously all Eliot would have to do is stretch down just slightly and pull Q into him and…

“The eyeliner looks great on you. And we _will_ revisit the lipstick issue at a later date.” Eliot pressed the tip of his finger to Quentin’s lower lip, just barely. To which…plot twist…

Quentin responded by dropping his mouth open and subconsciously making a motion as if he were going to latch on to Eliot’s finger and…suck…

Eliot’s jaw fell open as his heart dropped to the floor. _What…the…verified…fuck…is…this…_

Quentin caught himself just as his tongue began to dart out and _barely_ , almost indiscernibly touched the tip of Eliot’s finger. They both froze for about five seconds. Quentin kept his eye fastened to Eliot’s finger, not wanting to look Eliot in the eye and acknowledge that that had just happened. He thought about his options. He could either (1) back off and pretend this never happened, or (2) close his mouth around Eliot’s finger and be the wanton little goth slut he kind of secretly wished he could be were it not for his overactive brain. But just then, Eliot began slowly running his finger back and forth along Quentin’s lower lip.

It was clearly a dare.

And Quentin was nothing if not brave.

Quentin stopped Eliot’s path by gently darting out his tongue as Eliot’s finger attempted another pass. Eyes trained on Eliot’s hand, Quentin slowly – painfully slowly – circled the tip of Eliot’s finger with his tongue, then gently coaxed the digit into his mouth up to the first knuckle and sucked. His eyes shot up to meet Eliot’s as Quentin tilted his head up and allowed Eliot’s finger to slowly drop out of his mouth, letting it catch his bottom lip and pulling it down ever so slightly as it fell.

 _Oh._ Thought Eliot. _So the little nerd’s got game._

Neither was sure who acted first, but suddenly their lips clashed together desperately. Quentin’s hands reached up and threaded through Eliot’s curls, not yet pulling but just, _swimming_ through them like he couldn’t get enough. Eliot’s hands held either side of Q’s face – _so_ tenderly – as he encouraged his lips to part and licked into his mouth hungrily. The sounds coming from Q’s mouth were enough to make Eliot feel much too indecent for his skirt. He pulled away slightly, Quentin whining in protest, as he rested their foreheads together, both panting and flushed and _when did Q get into his lap?_ Jesus, this man was going to be the death of him.

“You wanna take this upstairs?” He breathed, eyes still shut, as if opening them would make Quentin disappear.

“Fuck yes,” moaned Quentin, his voice thick and low and so goddamn _needy_.

Eliot didn’t need to be told twice.


	5. The Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this is just porn.

Chapter 5: The Smut

He guided Q off of his lap and grabbed his hand, leading him upstairs frantically (were they running?). He briefly caught Margo’s eye as they flew past, hearing a snarky, “You’re welcome,” in his wake. “My room,” Eliot ordered, as they hurried down the hall away from the crowd of (jealous) students.

Eliot guided Quentin inside ahead of him and no sooner closed the door than he found himself being shoved up against it. Quentin was up on his toes, kissing him deeply, all teeth and tongues and…just everywhere. Eliot reached out to cup the back of Quentin’s head with his hand and found a sturdy hand on his wrist, slamming his arm back to the door. The second arm followed and Eliot was pinned with his hands by his head by this tiny little package of sexy dynamite that was honestly completely throwing him off guard. Like what the actual fuck? Aggressive Q was one that Eliot hadn’t seen before but god _damn_ if he wasn’t turned on by it.

Quentin kissed Eliot like his fucking life depended on it. And god it was _so_ good. Eliot did not expect Quentin to be this good at kissing. Eliot did not expect to be this _turned on_ just by _kissing_. But holy shit Eliot could kiss this motherfucker for hours and never get enough. Quentin pulled away and now it was Eliot’s turn to whine, but his protest was cut short when Quentin latched onto his neck and _sucked_. He bit down gently at the soft skin where his neck joined his jaw and Eliot about lost his goddamn mind. He then soothed the spot he’d just abused with a soft, slow swipe of his tongue and continued down, over Eliot’s collarbones, fingers working to untie the knot in the front of his shirt. He quickly pushed the shirt over Eliot’s shoulders and _Christ that fucking bra_ , admiring it for a moment and rolling his tongue over a nipple through the lacy fabric which made Eliot arch up off the door before being slammed back into it by Quentin’s deceptively strong hands. _Oh Jesus this fucking nerd WHY?_ Those hands then slid slowly down Eliot’s torso, dancing lightly through the sprinkling of soft hair on his chest and stomach, making every inch of Eliot melt in his wake. Quentin’s strong yet gentle fingers traveled expertly along his sides, over his hips, and found the hem of his skirt. Quentin had wondered about what was under this skirt all goddamn day and was not disappointed to find, as he slipped his hand underneath it, that Eliot was completely bare except for the garter belt. _Jesus this man was unreal_. And _oh dear lord Eliot was fucking huge_. Which…ok, Quentin kind of expected (hoped? _Quentin was not a size queen, Quentin was not a size queen_ …ok maybe Quentin was a bit of a size queen) but like, _damn, son_ , this…ok. _Ok, Q, focus_.

Eliot had been a little nervous about that. He wasn’t sure how much experience Q had had with other men (or if he had any at all) and was fully prepared to play teacher to his favorite student. He was just about to suggest that maybe they make their way to the bed so Eliot could suck Quentin off (give him an out? Maybe?) when Quentin suddenly dropped to his knees, eyes locked on Eliot’s. “Holy mother of god,” breathed Eliot in a low, shaky whisper. Quentin grabbed one of Eliot’s wrists and said, “Hold this,” ordering Eliot to hold up his skirt. Eliot did as he was told. Not releasing his steady gaze on Eliot’s beautiful eyes, he grabbed the base of Eliot’s cock and licked an agonizingly slow stripe up the length of him, lapping up the drip of pre-cum at the tip. Eliot let out a…what could only be described as a cry? Quentin smiled devilishly up at him, then shifted his angle a little and swallowed Eliot’s cock down to his fingers gripping the base. Eliot literally shouted and held completely still as Quentin slid Eliot’s dick in and out of his mouth, just _maybe_ an inch, back and forth, feeling the tightness of his throat – _his throat oh holy fucking Christ on a cracker Quentin could deep throat a cock like a goddamn porn star and nobody fucking prepared Eliot for this AT ALL._ Quentin pulled all the way back and began, just _going for it_ like it was the most delicious, exciting thing he could possibly be doing right now and Q was just desperate for it. Quentin was messy and hungry and so fucking turned on by sucking Eliot’s cock that Eliot had to use a good deal of strength to pull Q off of him because no, he was NOT going to let this night end that quickly.

“Q, Q stop. I need…fuck…I need you to stop or I’m gonna come and I have WAY more in store for you tonight.”

Quentin looked honestly heartbroken, like someone had taken away his binky ( _Hmm…Eliot could work with that_ ). Eliot helped Q off the ground and kissed him slowly and deliberately, tasting himself in Quentin’s perfect mouth, as he walked them toward the bed, peeling off clothing along the way. Quentin stopped Eliot when he got to the garter belt.

“Leave it?” he asked.

Eliot paused for a moment, then smiled broadly. “Ok, but the shoes are going because these heels are fucking killing me,” he laughed.

Quentin giggled (the man _giggled_ so help me god), “Fair enough.”

Eliot slipped off Quentin’s fishnet shirt ( _a crime to remove it really, but_ …), peeled off the crop top (which was… _yeah, definitely revisiting that one_ ), and worked his jeans down over his hips and down his legs ( _Q wasn’t wearing underwear how was this man allowed to exist?_ ) and Quentin was standing there, naked and beautiful, like a delectable offering to the sex deity that was Eliot…only, why did Eliot feel like worshiping _Quentin_ instead…

Eliot paused for a moment. “Ok so, this might feel a little…odd…but, do you trust me?”

Quentin glanced to the side quickly, then said, “Um…yes?”

“Ok, good. Just…hold still…” Eliot performed a quick series of tuts and Quentin felt like some invisible strings were coursing through his body. Eliot held his hands out over Q’s stomach until a small ball of light formed there and shot into El’s hands, causing a smile to take over his face. “All clean.”

Quentin looked confused.

“It’s a diagnostic test. You’re clean as a whistle, Q,” said Eliot with a wink. He then showed Quentin how to perform the test on him and with two clean bills of health, Quentin smiled at El and laughed, “I love magic.”

Now back to business. Eliot pushed Quentin backward onto the mattress and took in the sight of him.

“Fuck, Q, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” Eliot was…star struck. He stood there for a moment just taking in every stretch of skin, every dip and valley, every bone and muscle…Q was perfect.

Quentin, for once in his life, didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. He didn’t scramble to cover up the way he usually did. He just felt, completely _honored_ by the way Eliot was looking at him and it was…it was comforting, like coming home. He felt safe.

He was also beginning to feel impatient.

“Um, El?”

“Yeah?”

“Not that I don’t…appreciate being, like, admired, and all, but…we really need to be touching each other right now.”

Eliot laughed and crawled over Quentin, straddling his hips, with his hands on either side of his shoulders. “Oh yeah? Well what do you want, baby? Tell Daddy what you need…”

Quentin’s pupils were _blown_ , his eyes wide and soft and _oh sweet Jesus, he did not even know that was a thing that he liked but…apparently…fucccccckkkkk…_

Quentin’s brain cells worked to realign properly. “Um. Uh, I uh…”

“Use your words, baby,” _baby, oh have mercy, please call me baby again_ , “Daddy needs to hear you.”

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._ “Ok, I um, I want…your mouth…on me, and…and, your fingers…in me. And…I want…also, um, I, uh…want you to fuck me.”

And Eliot. Fuck. Eliot can’t move for a moment. He had started out this process thinking he would have to ease Quentin into letting El give him a hand job or suck him off without Q going into full hetero panic mode and turns out not only was Quentin an apparently _expert_ cocksucker but he was also lying on Eliot’s bed begging to be fucked senseless and _holy shit this is fucking unreal._

“El?” _Quentin is talking. Shit_.

“Yeah, I’m here, Q. Sorry, just, wow. Ok. I, um, did not really expect you to be so…so…”

“Queer?” Q volunteered with a smirk.

Eliot almost choked. “Um, well, yeah?” he chuckled.

Quentin rolled his eyes. “You didn’t think I was straight, did you?”

And Eliot, well. “Um…well?”

Quentin snorted and gave him another eye roll. “Ok, well we can talk about bi erasure another time. But right now, I need you to know that I am very queer, I am _very_ into you, and I _very much_ need to you fuck me into the mattress,” Q’s eyes went dark as they locked on Eliot’s, “Daddy.”

Aaaand…that switches Eliot back to Daddy mode. “Anything you want, baby boy.” Eliot brushed his lips over the shell of Quentin’s ear. “I’ll give you everything,” Eliot’s warm breath on Q’s clavicle. “Daddy will take care of you. Don’t you worry.” And Quentin let out a, quite frankly, pornographic moan as Eliot flicked one of his nipples with the tip of his tongue. He bent down and licked each one in turn, slowly, giving them lavish attention until Q was arching up off the bed and just _writhing_ around underneath him.

“El, _please_ ,” God, Q is so fucking needy it kills him. Eliot finally took pity on him and traveled down his body to his cock, which was achingly hard and leaking pre-cum all over his stomach. Eliot locked eyes with Q and, not looking away, lapped up the pool that had gathered there just above his hip and Quentin dropped his mouth open and moaned obscenely. Eliot sucked bruises into his hips and licked a line between his thigh and his balls before sucking the head of Quentin’s cock into his mouth and taking him all the way down to the root. Quentin honestly _yelled_ and Eliot went to work, expertly, sucking and slobbering and slurping and doing just _ungodly_ things with his tongue and _oh fuck my life_ Quentin was not going to last at this rate. Eliot kept a hand on Quentin’s thigh, feeling the tension there that told him Q was getting close. He suddenly popped off with the most ridiculously obscene sound and began nuzzling underneath Quentin’s balls, licking a sensitive spot now and then. He suddenly grabbed Quentin’s knees and forced them up toward his chest. Quentin didn’t have time to process what was about to happen before Eliot swiped the flat of his tongue against Quentin’s hole and Q. fucking. _lost it._ Like he literally cried out in utter pleasure and disbelief that Eliot – that anyone – would do something so fucking intimate and hot and _god how has nothing ever felt this good before_ and Quentin reached down to hold his legs for Eliot so El could tilt Q’s hips upward a bit, grab hold of his (omg perfect) ass and spread him apart so he could eat him out properly. Quentin moaned as Eliot licked all around his perfect little hole, pressing his tongue inside him and feeling him open up as he licked and sucked and _god how is Q so perfect?_

Eliot moved back to give attention to Quentin’s cock as he remembered their exchange earlier and pressed two fingers into Q’s mouth.

“Suck, baby boy,” he ordered.

“Yes, Daddy,” Quentin replied and sucked obscenely on Eliot’s fingers while Eliot sucked obscenely on Q’s cock.

“Fuck, Q, how are you even allowed?” Eliot pulled his fingers away and pressed one slippery fingertip against Quentin’s hole.

“Yeah, yes!” Q breathed as Eliot slipped his finger inside and Quentin stilled.

“You ok, baby? Green light?” Eliot was big on consent.

“Yes. Green. Please, keep going. More. Please, _Daddy_.”

Eliot’s eyes went completely dark as he caught his breath and slipped another finger inside Quentin next to the first. Quentin sucked in a breath, then, breathed out an “ahh,” as he relaxed and Eliot felt him open up around him.

“God, Q, look at you. You take it so well. You’re so good for Daddy, baby boy. God you just open right up for me, don’t you. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you since day one.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Q’s inner thigh. “Wanted to get my fingers inside you,” he sucked one of Q’s balls into his mouth, “Wanted to _taste_ you,” he licked the spot where his fingers disappeared into Quentin’s body and Quentin _sobbed_ , “Fucking _hell_ , Eliot!” Eliot floated the bottle of lube over to his free hand, poured some onto his fingers where they entered Q’s body, slipped a third finger in and _Jesus he just takes it like it’s nothing_.

“Yeah, Daddy. You like it?” Quentin asked.

“Like what, sweetheart?”

“Like that I…ahhh…that I can take you? That I’m so…easy…” Quentin treading lightly, a little bit of a blush appearing on his cheeks, not quite sure if El…

But Eliot catches on. “Yeah, baby. Like that you’re a little slut for Daddy.”

“Mmmm,” Quentin moaned and dropped his head back. “Fucccckkkk, El, I want everything. Everything you can give me. Please…”

“You ready for my cock, baby?”

“God, yes, _please_ , El. Please, Daddy. I need… _fuck_ …I need you inside me. Goddamnit.”

Eliot removed his fingers and Quentin gasped. Eliot lined up with Quentin and poured a good bit of lube onto his cock as he stroked himself a few times, mainly for the look in Quentin’s eyes as he watched the show. He may have thrown in a low moan or two for good measure, which made Q nearly rip the sheets off the bed. He pressed his cock up against Quentin’s hole, which was just…so ready for him. Quentin felt the thick head of Eliot’s cock push its way past the tight ring of muscle and stretch him out slowly. Fuck, Eliot was big. But it had been so long since Q had had this and it felt so fucking good to be filled up like this. Eliot took his time, pushing in ever so slowly, watching Quentin’s face intently for any sign of pain. There wasn’t any. Quentin only felt the most immense pleasure he’s ever had in his life as he stared into Eliot’s deep, soft eyes which were…god, so fucking caring and intense and…

Eliot finally bottomed out with a wanton groan as Quentin threw his head back against the pillow and gasped out a breathy, "ahhhh.”

“Fuck, you feel so good, Q. Are you ok? What do you need?”

“Fuck, El, just…fucking…move please, dear gods…”

With Q’s permission, Eliot began to move, slow and steady, pulling out nearly all the way then sliding back in slowly, pushing in hard as Q gripped the sheets and begged for _more, faster, harder, El, please._ Eliot wrapped one of Quentin’s legs around his hips as he pushed the other leg back toward his chest and _my god, Q was flexible, Jesus fuck._

“Please, Daddy,” cried Q, tears in the corners of his eyes, “Take me, hold me down, fuck me hard, Daddy, fuck me so fucking hard…” And Eliot, well, he had to give his baby what he wanted, right? So he grabbed Q’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Quentin gasped as his eyes flew open, dark as night and so hungry for it. For Eliot. _Not just for anyone,_ Eliot thought, _for me._ He wrapped one of his big hands around both of Q’s wrists and held them tight as he pushed Q’s leg back with the other, nearly folding him in half and _mother of fuck that was so goddamn hot_ , pounding into him and making the headboard slam against the wall. He was grateful for all the sound wards he had put up in his room, though something told him Q could maybe be somewhat of an exhibitionist with the right amount of coaxing and he would definitely have to explore that later. As of right now, though, if it weren’t for the wards the entire party downstairs would probably have turned into an orgy listening to him fuck Quentin senseless. Eliot found just the right angle to graze Quentin’s prostate on each thrust and that sent Quentin over the edge of sanity. Quentin literally screamed each time Eliot slammed into him, “Yes! Ah! Yes! Right there! FUCK! El. Eliot! OH GOD!”

“Yeah. Tell me what you want, Baby boy,” Eliot practically _hissed_ as he slowed slightly.

“Fuck, El. Talk to me. I wan…wanna hear you. Fuck, _please_.”

“Yeah, baby, I can do that. I wanna hear you too, though. You’re such a good boy for Daddy.”

“Ah!”

“You’re…fuck…you’re such a little slut for me aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck, El, yes. Yeah I am. I’m yours. I’m your little slut.”

_Fucking Christ._

“That’s it. Let me hear your filthy mouth tell me all about it.”

“Fuck, El, I…your cock…”

“Oh yeah? What about my cock?”

“It’s…so fucking big and it’s…filling me…splitting me apart…God it’s so good…you’re so good…” Quentin panted out in between thrusts.

“You like my cock, sweetheart?”

“Yes, holy shit, yes. I like sucking it. I w…I wanna…next time…I wanna suck your cock until you come. I wanna f…feel you come down my throat…”

“Q…I’m…Oh ff…I’m close Q…I want you to come, baby.” Eliot was frantic now, abandoning all hope of his usual aloof air of distinction. “I wanna watch you. I wanna…wanna feel you come on my cock. Can you do that, Q? Can you come for Daddy? Make a mess for me, baby boy?”

And Quentin couldn’t take it, seeing Eliot lose control and knowing that _he_ did this to him was just too overwhelming and painfully hot and…“Ohhhh, shit, El, yeah, yes, Daddy I…fuck, El, Eliot…”

Quentin _screamed_ as he came, hot and hard across his chest between them. It was enough to push Eliot over the edge and he thrust hard inside Q, holding him close and screaming Quentin’s name. Quentin felt his cock pulsing as he came deep inside him and Quentin was just chanting, “ _Eliot…Eliot…Eliot_ ,” so, _so_ softly as he came down from his orgasm. Quentin let go of the headboard and Eliot collapsed on top of him, not bothering to care that they were both now covered in cum and sweat and probably tears.

They lay there for a few moments, breathless, boneless, and practically senseless. Finally, Eliot slowly slid out of Q and rolled over to lie next to him. He performed the series of tuts necessary to clean them both up and Quentin immediately cuddled into Eliot as they both basked in the afterglow. Quentin traced his fingers through the soft hair on Eliot’s chest and hummed, contentedly.


	6. Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, the afterglow.

Chapter 6: Other Things

“Check in, Q. You ok? Green?” the fondness in Eliot’s voice was unreal.

“Yeah,” Q sighed, smiling gently up at him. “Green. Super green.”

Eliot kissed the top of Quentin’s head gently. “So…”

Quentin giggled. “So…that happened.”

“It sure did,” Eliot grinned.

“Will it…happen again?” asked Quentin, hopeful, brave…

Eliot looked at him. “I…” his smugness returning, just a bit, “I mean, I can’t predict the future or anything…”

Quentin shoved his shoulder, grinning like a damn fool, “Oh shut up, you asshole.”

Eliot rebounded and pressed his lips to Quentin’s, holding his jaw and running his thumb along his cheekbone. Quentin gently held his wrist, as if he wanted to make sure El didn’t go anywhere, and melted into the kiss.

“In all seriousness, Q,” Eliot whispered as he pulled away slightly, “I’d kind of like to stay in bed with you for the next, oh, fifty years or so maybe,” pressing little soft pecks to his cheeks and jaw, “So, to answer your question, yes, I definitely hope it will happen again…and again…and again…”

Quentin’s heart fluttered nervously. “And, what about…other things?”

“Other things?”

“Yeah. Like, I mean…there’s sex and there’s…you know…other things…” Quentin swallowed the lump in his throat, putting himself out on a limb. I mean, yes, he was really happy about the sex but…he, he _liked_ Eliot, and…he wanted…God, it almost killed him to think about what he wanted, like he didn’t want to get his stupid hopes up.

Eliot’s heart stopped beating momentarily. _Be brave, Eliot._ He wanted that, he did. He wanted…more, with Q. He wanted… _fuck, Eliot, just ovary up already._

Eliot took a deep breath and tucked his head down into Quentin’s perfect neck. “You mean like, you falling asleep in my arms and waking up in the morning for round two…” Eliot began. “Maybe showering together (round three?)…”

Quentin squirmed.

Eliot’s confidence soared. “You putting on some of my pajamas which are just way too big for you and too adorable for words and meeting me downstairs while I make you waffles for breakfast…” Eliot pulled Q in closer, “Spooning indecently in the kitchen, holding hands out on the quad, and just being _disgustingly gross_ in public and making out in the library until we get kicked out,” and _yep, yes this was definitely a thing_. “Maybe donning some stupid, cute little ship name like ‘Queliot’ (or maybe… ‘Eliquent’?) and wearing paired Halloween costumes and finishing each other’s sentences and just…being…entirely too sickening for words? Is that what you mean by ‘other things’, my darling Q?”

Quentin’s mouth went dry as his heart leapt into his throat. “Um. Y-yeah…”

Eliot smiled, quite proud of himself. “I would be honored.”

Quentin beamed. “Call me that again.”

“What?”

“Darling.”

Eliot smiled. “ _Darling,_ ” he whispered.

Quentin’s breath hitched.

“ _My darling…baby Q.”_

Eliot saw the hunger resume in Quentin’s eyes.

Yeah, round two was _not_ going to wait until morning.


End file.
